


The Lark

by raeldaza



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, F/F, Fairy Tale Elements, Fantasy, Magical Realism, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9429479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raeldaza/pseuds/raeldaza
Summary: Two witches, a deadly potion, dark secrets, a magical tattoo, an enchanted bird, magic powers, and maybe even a little bit of love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I hope the ill-defined laws of this world worked. It is actually totally mapped out, I just personally feel like explicating in the story sort of ruins it. Point being - if you need clarification, just ask!
> 
> Jehan's a woman because there needs to be more women in Les Mis, damn it. 
> 
> Oh, and there’s a little part in here with Javert that is literally almost a direct paragraph-ish from the brick. I like to keep those in first edits to keep me in character, and it actually worked with the plot, so I left it in. Not taking credit for it - all Hugo’s. And badass Eponine’s.

A storm was coming.

Long past were the days where they raised her hopes, but Eponine still loved them. Storms were tied directly into her magic; the rising spring breeze is like a live wire, electrifying her nerves. She hoped the spring storms would bring lightning and thunder - she could use an extra boost to her powers given the drought of the past few months.

She opened the door to Musichetta’s, the bronze bell attached ringing, announcing her presence. The store relied on natural lighting; it opened at dawn and closed at dusk. It normally didn’t present any problems, but the lighting was poor with the darkness of the thunderclouds, casting a shadow over the wooden shelves and beams.

She blinked twice, letting her eyes adjust.

“Eponine,” Musichetta greeted. “What can I do for you?”

“Invest in a lightbulb,” Eponine said, walking forward. Her boots creaked on the wooden floorboards, and, somewhere, a bird squawked.

Musichetta rolled her eyes. “Why bother?” With a snap of her fingers, the wicker candle next to her lit, flame flickering in Musichetta’s dark eyes.

“Fucking show off,” Eponine grumbled, coming up to the counter. Musichetta laughed, loud and bright, drawing a smile out of Eponine against her will.

“Don’t blame me because I don’t have control issues, dear.”

Eponine looked at her, unimpressed. “Are we forgetting about the hundreds of desks you set on fire before you found that spellcraft control tutor, then?”

Musichetta flushed, barely visible on her dark face. “What are you here for, then?”

Eponine rolled her eyes at the unsubtle redirection, but put her bag on the counter. “Enough that it’ll probably close my store credit. I’m running out of sycamore sap, basil, and fire powder. I used my last rat skeleton last week. I melted my only decent pewter cauldron yesterday, so I want to put one of those on hold. Then, I also want a box of fire starters, lighter fluid, another steel stirring spoon, and another tube of aloe.”

“Busy week?” Musichetta asked, moving away from the counter to amble around the store, picking up items. Eponine turned, leaning up against the counter, eyes following Musichetta’s ambling form, and noticed Jehan’s ivy plant had grown exponentially from the last time she saw it, now taking over almost all of the south wall.

“Some family in the North commissioned me to make some stupid potion for them to be immune to the coldness of snow.”

Musichetta glanced over at her, hands still grabbing leaves from the basil plant. “Is that even possible?”

“Probably, short term.” Eponine shrugged. “We’ll see. My freelancing site hasn’t had a good hit in weeks, so I need the money. Plus, shipping is getting so expensive. You know that potion I made a month ago, the one to take all the water out of soil? Almost a third of the money I made out of that went to shipping it to Greenland. Almost wasn’t even fucking worth it; lost an eyebrow, too.”

“At least Bossuet’s come up with a solution for hair growth,” Musichetta commiserated. She was now behind the purple curtains, sounding like she was having a slight struggle with something. “Hey, do you need any more oil?”

Eponine tried to imagine her stocks, but all she could remember was she had a full canister of brown sugar. “I don’t think so.”

“You sure? You’re going to need a lot if you’re experimenting with snow spells.”

“No, I think I’m good. I’ll just come back if I need more.”

Musichetta emerged from the curtains, hands full, and her dark, spiraled hair now tightly held back with a bandana.

Eponine raised her eyes. “Is there a hair salon back there?”

“Screw off, Lisette kept chewing on it when I was trying to get your rat skeleton.”

Eponine nodded. The parrot in the back didn’t seem to care for Eponine’s hair, but it had made a valiant attempt to chew off her sunglasses one day.

“Paper or plastic?” Musichetta asked, walking back to the front.

“Better go plastic. Don’t want the bags to get ruined if the storm starts.”

“Your magic getting jumpy yet?”

Eponine smiled, and a gust of wind flew through the shop, rattling all the herb and spice jars against one another, clinking.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

They made idle chatter for a few minutes before another customer came in, ending the conversation. Eponine raised a hand in farewell, and headed outside.

The door shut with a tinkle of the bell and a loud slam, and the noise caused a flock of crows to spread from their place on the swaying trees, cawing as their black wings spread.

Thunder cracked, and Eponine smiled.

* * *

“Hello Jehan,” Eponine greeted, letting the shop door close behind her.

Jehan waved from behind the cash register. A vine was slowly crawling its way up her arm, and its leaves shook with the movement.

“What can I get for you today?”

“Oil. Turns out I am out, after all. And for you—” she reached into her bag, and pulled out a vile about the size of her forearm. “My client from a month ago finally sent in the soil from Australia in payment. I offer half.”

“Soil?” Jehan wrinkled her knows, elbows now resting on the counter. She reached an arm forward, beckoning Eponine to the desk, where she handled the vile over. “What’s special about it?”

“For some reason or another, the radishes grown in it were the size of a watermelon.”

Jehan’s eyes danced. “Fascinating.”

Eponine smiled. “Thought so.”

“How much oil?”

“Just the regular bottle.”

Jehan nodded, and walked out from behind the desk. The vine was curled around her torso, stopping at the navel, and Eponine couldn’t see where it began.

She tapped her fingers while waiting, eyes idly taking in the sale on windchimes.

She jumped when they rattled, blown from a burst of air from the door being opened, the bell on the door a knell announcing a new customer.

She was a stranger, which was odd. People occasionally passed through the town, but it was odd enough to always gather the town’s attention.

She was also strikingly pretty, enough so that Eponine blinked several times to make sure the haze of incense in the store wasn’t affecting her eyes. Her long, plaited yellow hair was woven with flowers, a arresting contrast to her leather, durable traveling wear. In her hands, she clutched a small pouch. By the way it was slightly moving, it probably contained a small animal - Eponine would guess a mouse, if pressed.

Eponine looked down, suddenly nonsensically ashamed of her own age-old, practical skirt wear.

The bell jingled again, and a man walked in behind her, old enough to mostly likely to be her father, and muscled enough that Eponine was immediately wary.

The woman gave her a soft smile before turning and heading down the jar aisle, the man only a step behind.

Jehan walked out from behind the curtain, and Eponine heard her call a greeting out to the newcomers. She came into the view, oil in her hands, and walked behind the register. Quietly, while she began writing a receipt of the transaction, she whispered, “Those are the people who just bought Musichetta’s old place, down by the river.”

With renewed interest, Eponine turned, but they were hidden by the aisles, out of sight.

“What do you know about them?” she asked, voice low. “All Chetta said to me was that they agreed to the asking price.”

“That’s about all I know as well.” Jehan ripped the receipt off the notebook, handing it to her. “Well,” she said at normal volume. “Good luck with the potion.”

“Thanks,” Eponine muttered, viscerally remembering the night before and how she almost gave herself frostbite trying to simulate snow. As she stuffed the bottle into her bag, she heard steps behind her.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt—”

“No interruption,” Eponine herself interrupted. “I was just leaving.”

“Okay.” The woman smiled, soft and sweet, and Eponine swallowed. “I just wanted to introduce myself to you before you left. I’m Cosette, and am new to the town.”

“Pleasure,” Eponine greeted. "I'm Eponine."

“Nice to meet you,” Jehan added from behind.

“I was wondering actually,” she turned to address Jehan. “where you kept the firewood?”

“Behind the shop on the West side,” Jehan answered. The man behind Cosette gave a small nod, and turned to walk out of the store. “How much would you like?”

“Just a bundle, please,” said Cosette, and Eponine was starting to feel awkwardly unneeded in the conversation.

With an uncomfortable smile, she nodded to Cosette. “Well, pleased to meet you. I hope you like it here.”

“I’m sure I will.” Her laugh was like sharp and clear, like bells, and Eponine was starting to wonder if she had any unappealing traits at all. “Thank you.”

Eponine put out a hand to shake, belatedly realizing Cosette was still holding the moving pouch. Cosette moved to free a hand, and with a click of the tongue and a small shake, a small bird emerged, and flew up to sit on her shoulder. Pure gold, tiny, with streaky plumage, a crest, and elongated hind claws - it could only be a lark.

And suddenly, Eponine couldn’t breathe.

Dimly, she was aware that Cosette had shaken and dropped her hand.

Jehan and Eponine’s eyes met, and a beat of understanding passed through them, in time with the skipping in her own heart.

“What is that?” Eponine asked, voice remarkably steady.

“Hm?” Cosette had been looking down, folding the pouch. At the twin pair of stares, she jumped slightly. “What?”

“Your bird. What type?”

Cosette blushed. “A lark. It’s actually not mine - it was my mother’s. But, well. You know how it often goes.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Jehan. Eponine’s knuckles were turning white, nails digging into her skin.

“Thank you,” said Cosette, not meeting their eyes.

Eponine felt Jehan’s hand squeeze her wrist, and vaguely, she took it for the warning it was.

Cosette shifted her weight, eyes back on the ceiling. “I usually keep her hidden, you know? They are so hunted, and I wouldn’t be able to bear it if a scalper or poacher...It’s just, this town is so small, and seemed friendly, I didn’t think...” She trails off, looking uncertain.

“She’s safe here,” Jehan intervened smoothly as Cosette’s father walked back into the shop. “Don’t you worry.”

“Yeah.” Eponine nodded a little too roughly. Her voice was off a couple decibels. “We’re just surprised. She’ll be safe.”

While that did gain Jehan’s glance, it also regained Cosette’s bright smile, so it was a worthy lie.

* * *

Eponine left before Cosette, if only to avoid the inevitable conversation with Jehan.

She walked back from the store in a blank daze, feet walking the worn path through the woods without any conscious input from her mind. She ducked under tree branches, pulled her skirts up to avoid twigs, walked around the ash stump, and found her way into her private cabin with no thought in the matter.

She set the oil down on her hickory table with a small thud, and then let herself fall onto her couch.

She buried her head in her hands, relishing in the still quality of the silence. The air itself felt paused, stilted.

After several minutes, she looked up, eyes immediately drawn to the door all the way to the left; the black walnut, deadbolted one; the one with symbols and a “G” carved into the top with an hunting knife.

Someday, she’ll look back, and wonder how she could have perfectly understood a situation with no thoughts at all.

But now, she stared, silently, thoughtlessly, until her crow cawed.

And then she stood, and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind her.

* * *

Trees, Eponine soon learned, were not comfortable.

She’d been sitting in one in the forest outside Musichetta’s old, and now Cosette’s new, place for several hours. She could see the house fairly well, and Valjean was easy to spot being as big as he was.

Other than trees, she learned one other important fact - Valjean was paranoid.

She watched him install _four_ locks to the front door alone, and, by the looks of it, several protective runes were carved into the door, and she could make out at least two warding windchimes.

Both he and Cosette passed through with absolutely no trouble, so the spells and warding runes and charms likely were done by a DNA spell.

Which told Eponine another fact, though less important - they were definitely rich.

DNA spells take a skilled geneticist and a witch to be able to cast. It combines the DNA, usually a strand of hair, with warding, which came in the form of almost anything - charms, spells, carvings, locks, etc - and is concentrated in a protective talisman. Therefore, only people with DNA cast into the talisman could make it past the warding.

It was infinitely complex magic, and there were very few casters in the country, especially given how new of a trade it was. Eponine had tried to learn the trade about a year ago when she hit a rough financial spot. Two days later, the genetics book made a great fire starter.

Their wealth didn’t matter, but the spells did. Her original plan, to break in at night and steal the lark, would never work.

Instead, she’d need to have the spell expanded to include her DNA. Once cast, it was at the discretion of whoever held the charm that powered the spells and charms to add more people.

In short, she’d need to gain the trust of the charm holder if she were ever to sneak in secret to steal the lark.

She groaned, hitting her head on the tree trunk.

Her life could never be easy.

This was truly confirmed when she tried to make her way back down to the ground. She was by no means a stranger to climbing trees, but the branches were slick from the recent rain, and her foot slipped at the exact moment she had let go of an upward branch to grab a lower one.

Arms flailing, she fell, landing with a thud on the ground.

She groaned and rolled over. Her hipbone stung, no doubtedly bruised badly. Her fingertips clutched the dirt, and, momentarily, she took a moment to wonder if this was a punishment for spying.

“Eponine?”

Eponine launched upwards to a standing position in a moment, heart beating wildly.

Cosette was standing in front of her. She had changed from her travel wear into a sensible, if understated, jeans and plain shirt. The lark’s head was in a chest pocket, just popping out enough to be noticeable.

“I was checking out the garden when I heard a thud over here. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Eponine answered. She breath was still fast from the surprise. “I just - tripped.”

“Oh,” Cosette said, nodding.

“Over a tree root.”

“Okay.”

“That one,” Eponine said, pointing to the ground with no forethought, where, indeed, there was a root, given there was a tree.

“I believe you,” Cosette said, amused. “What were you doing over here anyway?”

“Welcoming you to town,” Eponine said, the first thing that entered her mind. “With a pie.”

“Ah.” Not a bad lie, given the circumstances. “And where’s the pie?”

Well, maybe not the most considered lie. “I forgot it.”

“Ah.” Eponine grew more awkward and Cosette’s smile grew larger as the moments passed. “Did you want to go get it?”

Ah, fuck. “I didn’t actually forget it.” Hopefully, her red face could be taken for embarrassment. “I dropped it.”

“And you still came here without a pie?” Cosette’s grin was scrunching her eyes now, and Eponine wished that the Wizard of Oz was accurate, that the soft drizzle would melt her into nothing.

“I didn’t think I needed a pie to welcome you,” Eponine muttered. She’d had a lot of blunders in the past, such as when she tried to make a friend in college by buying them a book she overheard them mention and consequently gotten a restraining order filed, but this was truly one of the more mortifying.

Cosette’s amusement faded. “Hey.” She placed her hand on Eponine’s shoulder. “Of course you don’t need one. I’m sorry - I was being rude.”

“It’s fine.”

“Well, come on then.” Cosette hooked her arm through Eponine’s and pulled her forward. “Meet my dad.”

Cosette pulled her past the garden, where a massive box of supplies was sitting. There was an entire pot of seeds, and Eponine wanted to see what they all were, but Cosette continued pulling her forward.

Valjean was clearing Musichetta’s old shed. She had used it for collecting leaves back when she was constantly practicing lighting things on fire. By the stack of wood leaning against it, Valjean had slightly different plans.

“Papa,” Cosette called. He turned, and Eponine could feel herself slinking back onto her heels. He was just _so large._ “Remember Eponine, from the store? She came to greet us.”

He dropped the rake and walked forward to greet them. He easily had over a foot on both.

“Pleased to meet you properly, ma’am,” he said. Eponine blinked rapidly. “It’s an honor.”

“Likewise,” she said, voice a little weak.

“Don’t let his appearance fool you,” Cosette mock whispered. “He’s a softy.”

“And proud of it,” Valjean said, nodding. His eyes were so kind, so gentle - Eponine didn’t know how she didn’t notice in the store.

“Eponine baked us a pie, but it unfortunately didn’t make the journey.”

“Shame,” Valjean said. “I do love pie.”

This was an opportunity, Eponine realized. She turned to Cosette, dislodging their arms. “Would you like to come back to mine? Make another pie?”

Cosette’s eyebrows rose, taken aback.

“That is,” Eponine amended. “If you can be parted from unpacking.”

Cosette hesitated. Valjean placed a hand on her shoulder. “Go,” he nudged. “I can handle this. Make some friends in town.”

“I’m not thirteen,” Cosette grumbled, but sent him a real smile.

Eponine’s stomach turned at the sight of it.

Attraction was so inconvenient.

“Okay Miss Eponine,” Cosette said, hands rubbing together in glee. “Let’s bake a pie.”

 

The stupid lark was distracting, and Eponine had been having such a good time, too.

They had made the journey back to Eponine’s, Cosette keeping up a friendly chatter about what she thought of the town and the trees as they went along. She asked few questions, just one or two about the stores and restaurants and WIFI connection, but mostly she just babbled, nothing really needing Eponine’s commentary.

She couldn’t help but wonder if this was Cosette’s version of nerves.

Eponine had given her a ten second tour of her house on her way to grab a basket from her kitchen, careful to avoid the left side of the house, and then they’d headed to the garden to Eponine’s blackberry bushes.

It was one of the only items in her garden Eponine had truly just for food. Most of it - lentils, carrots, various herbs, etc. - was for her potion work. She usually wasn’t overly picky about what she ate, but goddamn if she loved blackberries.

To Eponine’s dismay, Cosette had such a bright, lovely personality. She never commented on the slight drizzle of rain, just letting it fall, her shoes caked with mud, her hair frizzy in its plait, her skin damp. She kept the friendly conversation up with cheer and ease with true skill, her bright, happy personality never letting the chatter turn too serious or too annoying, just enough to dispel any awkwardness and keep Eponine talking here and there.

It’d be so much harder to hurt such a sweet person.

And the lark kept reminding her of her purpose here - sticking its head out of Cosette’s pocket, watching the proceedings with an occasional chirp. Its golden plumage must have dampened in the rain, but it never outwardly objected, just occasionally readjusting itself so Cosette’s pocket bulged and moved here and there.

The pie turned out beautiful. Eponine specialized in potions, and she was happy to discover a lot of the tricks that made her a master transferred to cooking.

“Well,” she said, patting the excess flour off on her skirt. “Thank you for coming by.”

“Thank _you_ for the pie. Papa will love it.”

Eponine nodded in acknowledgment.

Cosette bit her lip, and, after a moment of deliberation, placed the pie back on the counter from where she picked it up. Eponine only spent a moment being confused, because Cosette stepped forward, hugging her lightly.

“Please feel free to come by whenever. Just give me a call first.” Cosette had given Eponine her phone number earlier, under the guide of ‘neighborly needs.’

“You too,” Eponine said. “Feel free to stop in.”

Cosette smiled and nodded before picking up the pie again. “Well, goodbye, then.” The lark stuck its head out her pocket, chirping a goodbye.

They left, and Eponine had to keep a hand on the table, steadying herself.

Making this friendship would be easier, and harder, than she thought.

* * *

A knock on the door broke Eponine from her concentration.

“Finally,” she muttered. She stood from her cross legged position, and tried to smooth her hair from its frizzed state, thanks to the heat from the cauldron.

She yanked the door open.

Musichetta stood, hand on her hip, parrot on one shoulder, a bag in her hand. “Your cornstartch, my dear.”

“Thanks.” Eponine grabbed the bag out of her hand and went back into her house, leaving the door open for Musichetta to follow.

“Where’s the stampede?” Musichetta asked. She walked a foot inside the door, leaning up against the wall. Lisette squawked at being unsettled and nipped at her hair. She impatiently brushed her head aside.

“I want to get this stupid snow potion done as soon as possible so it's not looming over my head.” She undid the lid to the cornstarch a little too roughly and a burst of powder flew up into the air.

“New project?” Musichetta asked.

Eponine hummed.

“Eponine, Jehan told me about the girl yesterday.”

Eponine let her hands still, but didn’t turn around. “Did she?”

“She did,” Musichetta confirmed. “And I’m worried about what your plan is.”

“My plans are not your concern,” Eponine said, trying to keep her tone firm but light. She had no wish to alienate Musichetta, one of her few friends in town, but this wasn’t a line Eponine was willing to redraw.

“If she has a lark, a real lark that’s really hers, she’s obviously already had a hard life.”

“Not her lark,” Eponine corrected. The fire needed to be hotter, but she couldn’t find her poker stick to bunch up the logs. “It’s her mother's.”

“So it wasn’t her sacrifice - it was still someone close to her. She’s obviously been through a lot.”

“As have I,” Eponine snapped. She could feel Musichetta’s silence behind her, her gaze like a thorn prick in the back of her neck.

“You know I wasn’t suggesting you haven’t,” and oh, her tone had cooled off considerably. “But this isn’t only about you.”

“No, it’s not,” Eponine replied, pointed, and Musichetta obviously got the hint, because she sighed slightly. Eponine felt a touch on her shoulder, and she turned. Musichetta’s dark eyes were somber.

“I’m not going to say her bird’s life is worth more than a human’s. You won’t hear it out of my mouth. But you don’t have to be cruel, either.”

Eponine nodded. “I won’t.”

Musichetta studied her face. After a moment, she nodded. With a snap of her fingers, the fire under the cauldron jumps, ablaze with new light.

“You know where to find me,” Musichetta said, turning to leave. Eponine raised a hand in farewell, and turned back to her potion.  

* * *

She was carefully applying a label onto the potion bottle when she heard a knock on the door, much softer and shorter than any knock Eponine was accustomed to from her friends. She dropped the finished bottle into the box with packaging peanuts that she already prepared, and went to answer the door.

“Hi!” Cosette greeted, smile bright. “You told me to stop by when I get bored - so, here I am!”

“Hello.” Eponine was stupidly glad she had remembered to put on perfume today. “I was about to head off to the post office, if you’d like to join.”

Cosette’s smile, somehow, got larger. “I’d love to.”

 

“So, what are you mailing? A pie to a secret lover?”

Eponine laughed, startled. “No, a potion to a client.”

Cosette turned, eyes large. “Woah, no way? You make potions?”

“Yep.” Eponine nodded, and smiled at the delighted look on Cosette’s face. “I haven’t trained professionally, but I’ve always had a knack for making up my own. I have a freelancing website, and I create some of the more specialized, non-generic ones.”

“That is so cool.” She sounded so impressed that Eponine had to look away, biting her lip to stop a grin. “What was this one?”

“The consistency is like a lotion, or honey - more viscous than a usual potion. You spread it on your feet or hands, and it will make you immune to the cold for about thirty minutes. And by immune, I mean that when it is absorbed, your nerves lose their ability to feel cold - but your body is still affected like it would be, so you can still get frostbite. It’s just worthwhile if you’re outside for a while.”

“How did you get it to only affect the nerves with cold? Like, they still can feel enough to walk, and move their limbs, and probably feel hot or pain?”

Eponine nodded.

“How did you do that?”

Eponine winked. “Magic.”

More accurately, a lot of trial and error, including falling over with numb feet and sticking pins into her feet. And also quite a bit of magic.

“Well, color me impressed.”

They stay fairly quiet for the remainder of the walk, coming upon the post office in under eight minutes. It was a beauty of a building, all brick and ivy, and Cosette gave it an affectionate pat as Eponine placed the package in the outgoing mailbox.

“This town is so quaint. It’s like a movie - all trees and stone and soil, like the olden days of freeform magic.”

“But in the olden days, there probably were less McDonald’s and Wifi cafes,” Eponine pointed out.

“Still,” Cosette said, and Eponine privately agreed.

From the little she knew of Cosette, she wasn’t prone to silence, so her continued quiet on the walk back seemed out of character. Finally, four minutes from home, Eponine gained the courage to ask her what was wrong.

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just—” She paused. “Do you think you could brew a potion to get rid of tattoos?”

Eponine took a moment to look Cosette up and down. “Secret tiger somewhere?”

“Not me.” Cosette flushed. “For my dad.”

“Tattoo potions are really common, Cosette.” They’re one of the more popular items on the Internet, ranging in price hundreds of dollars based on effectiveness and ingredient quality. There’s no way Cosette doesn’t know they exist.

“I meant magic tattoos.”

“Oh.” Eponine can’t contain her surprise. “You mean—”

“Tattoos infused with magical ink and tattooed on with spelled needles.”

“Like they do in prisons.”

“Like they do in prisons,” Cosette confirmed. She held a remarkably steady gaze for someone who just revealed her father was a felon.

“You know removing prison tattoos is illegal.” She didn’t phrase it as a question, and wasn’t surprised by Cosette’s short nod.

“Can you do it? We’d pay you. I’d hate to put you on the wrong side of the law, so feel free to say no.”

Eponine continued walking, hands in her pockets, considering.

After a moment of deliberation, she looked back up. Cosette’s gaze was forward, tight. “How about I train you how to do it? Technically, you’d be the one brewing it illegally, so you’d be liable. But I think I can manage the potion. You can just be at my side.”

“Really, Eponine?” Cosette stopped her with a hand to the elbow. “You’d really do that for us? I know it’s illegal—”

“Sweetheart,” Eponine interrupted. “The law is just a suggestion for civil society. I don’t have to take suggestions.”

“Well,” Cosette said after a moment. “Aren’t you full of surprises?”

* * *

“I’m ready for potion making!”

Cosette had insisted that dawn was the best time for magic, and if Eponine didn’t need her goodwill so much, she probably would have laughed in her face at the suggestion.

As it was, she was up, bleary eyed and mind throbbing, teeth unbrushed and hair thrown in a ponytail.

It was embarrassing how put together Cosette was in contrast, all collected angles and ironed clothes, but Eponine had come to the conclusion the night before that reciprocated attraction would be even worse than a one-way thing, so she might was well not do anything to encourage it, like change out of pajamas.

“Morning,” she yawned, opening the door.

Cosette bustled through, hands full of bags of ingredients Eponine had suggested. The lark was on her shoulder, chirping away.

Momentarily, Eponine wondered if she could kill it by surprise, throwing a book at it or something.

In the end, she didn’t trust her aim or strength of her arm over the bird or Cosette’s reflexes. And she couldn’t mess this up - she had to be sure.

Eponine hurried Cosette past the living room, past the doors to the bedrooms, and into the kitchen. She already had most of the ingredients set up due to some foresight from the last night.

“Okay, so, take a seat.”

Cosette did, bouncing slightly in her seat. Eponine couldn’t find it in herself to truly be aggrevated.

“So, potion making is a lot of knowing what certain ingredients do, and guessing what they do together. After that, it’s all trial and error. I’ll probably send you back with about five hundred vials to try on your dad, and, if we’re real lucky, maybe one will work.”

“Oh,” Cosette said, deflating slightly. “That’s less exciting than I had envisioned.”

“Such is all adult life, it seems.”

Eponine moved to the fridge. “Can I get you anything to drink? Milk, water?”

“Do you have chocolate milk?” Cosette asked.

“Oh, I did,” Eponine responded absently, not really thinking, “but my twelfth birthday was last month.”

She froze, head in the fridge, eyes widening as she realized what she said. She quickly raised her head out of the fridge, banging it slightly on the freezer, just in time to hear Cosette’s ringing laugh.

“Oh God, what did I eat this morning, Quaker’s instant bitch? I'm so sorry.”

Eponine was mortified, but Cosette was still chuckling, so all probably wasn’t lost just because Eponine forgot that not everyone is accustomed to her humor.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “My friends are used to it, I forgot—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Cosette waved her hand idly. “Teach me your liquid voodoo and I’ll forgive almost all.”

“Sorry, I’m not a morning person.”

“Really.” Cosette eyed her up and down. “I never would have guessed.”

“Fuck off,” Eponine said, rolling her eyes, and grabbing a water bottle.

“What?  I happen to think the rumpled bed look is very hot.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eponine said dryly, making her way back over to the table, hoping her tone masked the beating of her heart. “What the hell even attracts you?”

“A cheerful spirit and overwhelming optimism,” Cosette said with a smile, and Eponine might be in trouble here.

 

“Well, that was more frustrating than I expected.” Cosette leaned back in chair, stretching hear arms above her head. “Is it always like that?”

“Not always,” Eponine answered. She closed the blinds; night had fallen, no natural light left. She flicked her lamp on. “This is a potion to counteract magic - that’s far more difficult than a potion working with the natural world.”

She took an empty vile off her coffee table. “Here, I’ll bottle a bit of what we made. It won’t work, but I’m curious what it does. Put it on for a minimum of five minutes, unless he claims any discomfort. Let me know what it does - if anything. Anything it makes him feel, any color changes, anything, okay? Write it down and we’ll work off that.”

Cosette nodded and watched Eponine bottle the potion. She handed it off to her, and Cosette carefully packed it away in her satchel.

When she opened it, Eponine could see the lark sleeping inside a little pouch. Cosette flipped the satchel closed, and Eponine averted her eyes.

“When do you want me back?”

“Every other day works for me,” Eponine said. “It’ll give me time to continue my own work a bit, so I don’t go completely idle on my site, but I can dedicate most of my time to this.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Cosette said. She toed on her shoes, but looked up to catch Eponine’s eye. “It’s appreciated, but you don’t need to.”

Eponine waved her off. “With what you offered to pay - don’t worry. It’s not a hardship for me.”

“Okay, if you’re certain. Friday, then.”

“Friday,” Eponine confirmed.

* * *

They settled into a rhythm.

Every other day, Cosette would show up at the first rays of dawn with some baked good for breakfast. At first, Eponine had tried to at least have her hair brushed out of respect, but eventually she gave up, considering it a win if she was actually even out of bed by the time the knock came.

They’d spend several hours working on the potion without any haste, just waking up and enjoying the morning, Eponine teaching Cosette tricks of the trade, and generally teaching her the basics of potion making. They’d break for lunch, usually Eponine cooking, but not always, and eating in the garden. Afterwards, they’d concentrate for a couple hours, Eponine truly working, and Cosette mostly sitting and watching, occasionally working on her own projects. They’d part before sunset, so Cosette could walk back in the light.

Spring bled into summer. On one particularly hot night, Eponine gained the courage to ask what had been bothering her since they started all this.

“Cosette?”

“Mmm?” Cosette said. She was lying on her stomach on her bed, legs in the air, reading some science fiction book about aliens. She put a thumb in the book, marking her spot, and looked up.

“You don’t need to answer, but why does he need the potion?”

Cosette was braver than anyone probably gave her credit for. She didn't drop Eponine’s gaze. “Are you asking what he did, or why he needs the tattoo gone?”

“Do they not go together?”

Cosette nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“I know you well enough now to know you can keep your secrets. So, please, keep this one too.”

Eponine nodded, and crossed her heart with her free hand. With her other, she continued stirring the potion. She was brewing a new pot of fingernail growth potion for Musichetta’s stocks.

“He didn’t have a good youth, my dad. He wasn’t a good man. Rough, tough, the whole nine yards.” Now that Eponine knew Valjean, it was hard to imagine him lifting a finger against another person, let alone a fist. “He was put in jail for something - he never told me the specifics, but it was a crime against the statues of fair magic. Thus the magic tattoo. He then violated his parole. With the way the law system works here, that means that he gets ten years for every year he has violated.”

“How many years has it been?”

“About forty,” Cosette said, and Eponine drew a breath. “Exactly. The magic tattoo identifies him so quickly. It’s unmistakable. He’s had a law enforcer - a man named Javert - after him for years. His whole job is to track to magic parole violators - which is specific enough that he doesn’t have a ton of people to split his attention. He’s always casually after us, we always gotta keep moving. And I just want to stay still for once. I want to settle. I know it’s illegal, but my father’s a good man.”

“No one would argue that,” Eponine agreed.

Cosette nodded. She waited to see if Eponine had anything to add, and when her silence continued, Cosette went back to her book.

“You don’t have to pay for the potion,” Eponine said suddenly. Cosette’s head snapped up from the book.

“Consider it a welcome home present.”

Cosette laid her book down and sat up, immediately moving to where Eponine was sitting. Carefully, she sat down next to her, and pulled her into a sharp, powerful hug.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Eponine hugged back, even though the position was awkward and sort of hurt her back.

A chirp interrupted the two.

“Oh, sorry dear,” Cosette said. She pulled back, and the lark stuck its head out of her shirt pocket, indignant from being squashed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

And, suddenly, for the first moment that she subconsciously knew was coming, Eponine had no idea what the fuck she was planning on doing.

* * *

Summer melted into autumn, and Cosette had recently been taking to spending the night due to the early evenings.

“My dad has been missing me,” Cosette said one evening as she was getting under the covers. “Since I’ve been here so often.”

“Mmm,” Eponine hummed, running her hands through her hair. “And?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to spend the night at mine, sometime.” Eponine glanced over to where Cosette was lying. She was playing with a hairband, avoiding Eponine’s gaze.

“The warding keeps me out, remember?” Eponine said lightly. Cosette had explicitly told her a couple months ago after Eponine not so subtly suggested they work at her house instead.

“I may have mailed the warding guy and had you added you to it?” Cosette said, hands fiddling.

Eponine dropped her hands, shocked. “You did what now?”

Cosette buried her head in her hands. “I’m sorry, I know it was invasive, I took one of your hairs and added it with my dad’s permission, I know it’s weird and kind of a big step, but you’re my best friend—”

“Cosette,” Eponine said, grabbing her wrists, and moving her hands away from her face. “Don’t apologize. Thank you.”

Cosette smiled, a little wobbly. “Of course.”

Eponine had learned in the last few months that Cosette loved talking about feelings, as long as they weren’t her own. So, Eponine patted her knee, and stood.

“Now, where did I put my blanket?”

“Washing machine,” Cosette answered immediately.

“Oh yeah. Did I put it in the dryer?”

“No, you forgot because you were making taquitos.”

“You certainly remembered.”

Cosette shrugged, unabashed. “You can always sleep in my bed. I have plenty of warmth.”

Cosette had been doing this a lot lately. Musichetta said their flirting was sweet. Personally, Eponine thought their flirting would send her to an early grave.

“I have a drying potion,” Eponine said, and ignored Cosette’s sigh.

* * *

“Mr. Valjean,” Eponine greeted with a nod.

“‘Ponine,” he said. He was reading something that looked like a religious text. “Back with my daughter, finally, I see.”

“Ehhhhmehm,” Eponine mumbled. Valjean just snorted, along with Cosette, the traitor, who pulled Eponine towards her room.

“Bye dad.”

“Bye honey.”

The door swung shut. “You shouldn’t let him bother you.”

“I don’t,” Eponine said, just for pride. Cosette rolled her eyes. The lark, sitting inside her front pocket as it was so wont to do, chirped. Cosette smiled and pulled it out, startling Eponine.

In all the eight months of their friendship, Cosette had never brought the bird out. That, Eponine would have noticed.

“See, she thinks that’s a lie as much as I do.” The bird sat in the palm of Cosette’s hand, completely calm. Cosette hesitated, and then asked, “Do you want to pet her?”

Jesus.

With one finger, Eponine pet the lark on the head. Its plumage was soft, fluffy. “You don’t have to tell me by any means, but I am curious.”

“About?”

Eponine gave her a pointed look. “The lark. You said it was your mother’s sacrifice?”

Cosette swallowed and looked down, but nodded. “Yeah. The greatest personal sacrifice of all  — letting her child leave.”

“What do you mean, leave?”

“Valjean is not my real father.” Eponine started. “He was the owner of the business my mother worked at. When it became clear to her that she was unable to look after me, she let him take me in.”

Eponine wasn’t sure what to say.

“You know, I thought that everything she had done before might have been enough, but it wasn’t. She left her no-good boyfriend, my father, because she thought he wouldn’t treat me right. She worked twelve hour shifts in terrible conditions to keep me alive. She got sickly from the job. But the lark didn’t come until she told Valjean yes, and I let go of her hand and grabbed his.” She looked up. Her eyes were glistening in the light. “There is something humbling about being loved so dearly that letting you go is their greatest personal sacrifice.”

“What object turned?”

“Her locket. She was clutching it at the time, and it burst into feathers. Scared me half to death. She died a minute later, and the lark climbed on my shoulder. We haven’t been parted since.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It’s not okay, but,” Cosette shrugged. “Time heals.”

“When you’re hopeless, I suppose,” Eponine said, and immediately regretted it. What a fucking comment.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” Eponine shook her head. “Nothing.”

Cosette looked at her strangely for a moment, but shrugged. A beat, and then:

“Hold out your hand straight, please,” Cosette said.

“Why?”

“Because I need to go to the bathroom and she hates the toilet, but I never have anywhere to put her.”

“You want me to hold her?” Eponine’s heart rate immediately accelerated, tripling in a moment, so much so that she was caught off guard by it.

“Just for a moment,” Cosette said. She stretched out Eponine’s fingers, and then, quickly and softly, handed the lark off.

“Be just a sec.”

Cosette bounded off to the toilet, and, suddenly, Eponine was alone with the lark in her hand.

It chirped, dancing slightly, probably uncomfortable with a new owner.

With just a grip of a fist, it could be dead in her palm in a moment. Eponine could be out of the house before anyone knew what happened.

She stared at it, the little golden legs quivering, dancing.

She stared, and stared, hand wavering in the air.

One squeeze - it could be over.

One fist - her problem solved.

Just a crick of its neck - no one could stop her.

“Well,” Cosette said, opening the door, and bounding back into the room. Her braid swung with the motion. “What did I miss?”

She scooped the lark off Eponine’s hand, depositing her back into her pocket.

“Nothing.” Eponine’s hand fell to her side. She clenched her fist. “Nothing at all.”

* * *

“Hi Eponine!” Jehan greeted. Her vine was curling around her neck, slinking her way to the top of her head. “We’re heading into the rainy season! You must be happy.”

Eponine nodded, not answering. The gust of air that followed her entrance made the windchimes tinkle.

“Well, what can I do for you today?”

“A friendly ear?” Eponine asked. She plopped herself down on the stool next to the register, leaning her arms against the counter.

Jehan smiled, her smile going soft and sweet as it was so wont to do. “Always, my dear. What’s the matter?”

“I had an opportunity.” Jehan stared, uncomprehending. “To do the thing. You know. _The_ thing.”

Jehan’s face cleared in understanding.

“And you didn’t?”

“I hesitated and lost the moment.” Eponine knew her voice had edged on slightly too emotional.

Jehan took her hand.

“I’m not sure that’s the bad thing you seem to think it is,” Jehan said gently.

“I have to remember my priorities.”

Jehan regarded her sadly. The vine crawling on her even stopped moving.

“What?” Eponine asked tiredly, resisting the urge to bury her head in her arms.

“I won’t judge you no matter what you do, ‘Ponine,” she said. “I understand how tough of a spot you’re truly in. I just wish you’d stop judging yourself for anything you do.”

This time, Eponine didn’t resist the urge. She let her head drop to the table, and covered it with her arms.

“When,” she asked the wind, “is my love going to stop wrecking everything?”

“Oh honey,” Jehan said, slipping an arm around her shoulders, squeezing tight. “Your love is the reason any of this matters in the first place.”

And if that ain’t the fucking kicker.

* * *

The next week, they were back at Eponine’s for the day because Eponine had a new theory that wormroot, which she grew in her garden, might be effective.

They were well past evening when Cosette looked up from the potion, frowning. “Do you hear something?”

Eponine paused her knife, craning her head to listen. And yes - Eponine didn’t know how she could have heard it, but that was definitely a car.

They shared a look, and, in tandem, moved to the window. A car was parked on the outside of Eponine’s forest; he must have taken the road that had been put in before Eponine bought the house; she never used it, because she walked everywhere and the road was further from everything than paths, but she was aware it existed. She hadn’t upkept it at all, though, and it was completely overgrown.

Eponine was still trying to get a glimpse of the man’s face when Cosette jumped back with a gasp.

“What?” Eponine asked. “Do you know him?”

“That’s him - that’s Javert. He found the town.”

“Oh Jesus,” Eponine said. She grabbed Cosette, pulling her out of the view of the window. “Look, he probably didn’t find you. This is probably just a stop that he’s checking. The locals here love you - Javert looks suspicious, they won’t give you up. Stay out of sight. I’ll deal with him.”

“Be careful,” Cosette said, settling herself against the wall with the window. Her foot was tapping.

“Oh, I’ll be more than that,” Eponine muttered.

She opened the door just as Javert had made it to her garden gate.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” said Eponine mildly. Javert jumped back if scalded, but one hand still on the gate.

“Evening Miss,” he replied, giving her a short nod, like it wasn’t in the dead of night, and he was only just visible by the moon. “I’m just here at all these houses in the neighborhood looking for a fugitive.”

Eponine raised her chin, not breaking her gaze from his as she made her way down her walkway and toward where he was standing. She opened the gate outwards, making him take a step back, hand falling to his side.

“There you go, now only your feet are on private property.”

His polite smile thinned.

“Ma’am, this man could be dangerous—”

“Oh, and so could you,” she interrupted, letting her voice drop to the guttural timber she perfected when impoverished, the tone that always made people take a step back. This was no exception. “I don’t who you are. You could be lying just to get into my house.”

“I can show you my badge—”

“I’d like a warrant.” His jaw clenched. “If you don’t have one, you leave.”

She stood with her back to the gate, facing Javert. She stood firm, like a demon in the dark. She went on with fire in her eye, talking in a low resolute voice:

“Listen to me. I mean this. If you try to get into the garden, if you so much as touch this gate, I'll scream the place down." She took a step towards him, and he stepped back. She laughed again. “My God, do you think I'm scared of you? You poor fool, you think you can frighten any woman just because you talk with a little confidence and flash your little city badge. But I'm a daughter of the underworld, and I’m not scared of you.”

By his quavering eyes, he certainly was slightly scared of her.

“Off my property.”

She could see his teeth grind, but in the end he gave her a short nod, and turned to walk away. She watched him to leave until he was truly out of sight, and returned to the house.

Cosette was standing to the right of the open window, invisible, but definitely within earshot.

Eponine closed the door, and turned to look at her, arms crossed.

Cosette watched her, face carefully blank.

It was silent for one too many moments, just staring at each other in the low lamp lights. Finally, Eponine broke the quiet.

“I haven’t always been what I am now.”

She used to be so afraid to admit that - she had no idea when it stopped being a shame.

“Well,” Cosette said at last. “You are what you are now.”

She retook her seat at the table, slowly stirring the pot of bubbling liquid. It would definitely have to be thrown out; it was far too thick.

Apparently, that was all she was going to give, and all she was going to ask.

Cosette smiled as Eponine sat down again.

Something was differently, slightly, but Eponine couldn’t name it if pressed - something that had been tilting in her heart had fallen.

She clenched her fist under the table, but smiled back.

* * *

“I really think this is close,” Eponine said, ladling some of the potion into a vile. It was swampy green and the consistency of mucus, so an altogether unpleasant concoction, but it smelled like raspberries, and goddamn it, it really held some promise.

Cosette spit out the hoodie string she had been chewing on, sitting up from her slouched position on Eponine’s armchair. “You really think so?”

“I do.” Eponine finished scrawling on the last of the directions, folded the paper, and handed it to Cosette. “There’s the recipe, directions for making, and directions for application. Let me know what happens.”

“As always,” Cosette agreed. She yawned, wide and large. Her pocket chirped. “Can I crash here for the night?”

“Of course. Did you remember to bring my quilt back?”

Cosette nuzzled into the chair, eyes drooping. “No, left it at home again.”

“Come on, dude, that’s my favorite one.”

“Just stop by the house and pick it up sometime,” she suggested, eyes still closed. “You’re in the warding.”

Cosette was entirely too trusting in general, but this kind of absurd faith in Eponine was utterly underserved, and something about it made her throat clench.

“Well,” she replied, voice just on the edge of strained. “You could also remember it next time so I don’t have to, eh?”

“Tomorrow,” Cosette said. She reached down, eyes still closed, and pulled the blanket off the floor onto her. “Hey, Eponine?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me a bedtime story.”

Cosette did this sometimes. At first, Eponine thought she was kidding. After it became clear she was not, she thought that perhaps Cosette was far more childish than she let on. Cosette dispelled of all that and further theories quickly - she had a hard time sleeping as a child, and Valjean used to read to her. The sound of voices lulled her to sleep, and the method still worked.

“What do you want to to hear?”

“Hm. How about a story about love?”

Eponine sat down on the couch, not a foot from her. Cosette’s eyes were still closed.

“Yeah, tell me a story about love. And give it a happy ending.”

* * *

A storm was coming.

It was the next day, and Cosette was due any moment to tell Eponine the results of the latest trial. It was a harvest autumn evening, long and hot, and the sun was still in the sky - bright and golden and warm, but Eponine could feel it in her fingertips - rain was on the horizon, less than a half hour away.

She paced in front of the door, inanely frustrated that Cosette wasn’t there yet.

After a lifetime of fourteen minutes, she could see Cosette coming up the well worn path.

Eponine flew up the door. “Well?” She shouted.

Cosette flew her arms up in the air, which could mean anything.

Fifteen seconds later, and Eponine was standing with an armful of Cosette.

“So close, ‘Ponine! It was gone _all night._ He woke up and it was back—”

“So I just have to work on potency!” Fuck yes. “The hard part is done, Cosette, we’ve done it.”

She twirled Cosette in the air. When she landed, Cosette pulled back slightly, their faces inches away.

Eponine could feel her breath catch.

Cosette began to move forward, but she hesitated just long enough to give Eponine enough time to move out of the way.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want it - she just could never have that.

“Come on,” she said, ignoring the moment. She grabbed Cosette’s hand and pulled her towards the house. “Let’s have some celebratory cake or something.”

Cosette followed her inside, if a little quietly.

“Close the door, will you? I can feel a storm coming.”

The door shut with a bang.

Cosette was at least twenty feet away from it.

“Woah.” Eponine blinked. “Did you do that?”

Cosette nodded. Several golden sparks came from her fingertips. “Have I never shown you my powers?”

“No,” Eponine realized. “You haven’t. How is that possible?”

Cosette shrugged. “Not really big into showing them off. Plus, we haven’t really been doing things that required my type of magic.”

“Wow. Sparks though, that’s - why golden?”

“Oh, my powers are from the sun.”

It was stifling warm all of a sudden. “Huh. Is that so.”

“What?”

“What?”

“Your voice got funny. What’s wrong?”

The revelation that Cosette knows her that well was disquieting. “It’s just...I’m powered by storms.”

“Oh,” Cosette said, surprised. “We’re complementary.”

“Yeah.”

Cosette didn’t seem to be as embarrassed by the revelation. She smiled, in that honest way so characteristic of her. “We should try a spell sometime.”

“Maybe,” Eponine said, evasive. The lark chirped from Cosette’s pock, its small head almost glowing in the bright sunlight from the window. “How powerful are you?”

Cosette’s smile turned sharp. “Oh, pretty darn.”

Eponine raised an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

“Care to have any of your furniture broken?”

Both Eponine’s eyebrows rose without her permission. After a moment, she pointed to a mirror hanging beside the black walnut door. It was a present from her parents when she was a young child; she had kept it out of some base sentimentality, as if holding on to a remnant of a more pleasant past would somehow overwrite the last fifteen years. She had been thinking of throwing it out for years, but some spells require objects with familial ties, so she’d kept it on the off chance she’d encounter one.

Seeing Cosette show off seemed a bit more important than that. And she could always collect the pieces.

Cosette turned, squaring her shoulders and staring at the mirror. She started spinning her hand, and Eponine leaned back in surprise when she saw a small ball of glowing light forming in her palm.

This was far beyond Eponine’s prowess.

With interest, she watched as the ball gained in size, flickering with rising energy. The sunlight beyond Cosette was fading, like she was sucking it in and transforming it rather than just moving it - and Eponine was suddenly certain she has had at least some formal training.

After a seemingly long time, but probably only ten seconds, Cosette reached her arm back and threw the ball of light. It collided with something on the far wall, and a burst of light flickered throughout the room.

Eponine instinctively turned her head and shut her eyes.

It faded after only a moment, and they both turned to look at the wall.

“Oh drat,” Cosette said sadly. “My aim has always been terrible.”

The mirror hung completely untouched, but the door’s handle had been blown off completely, leaving a crack open to the room beyond.

Eponine’s heart stopped for several long moments.

“That’s why dad always said, ‘never practice magic in the house.” Cosette wiped her hand on her dress. “I’m sorry about your door - I’ll pay for a new one.”

“Mmhm,” Eponine not responded. She had to find a way to inconspicuously close the door before Cosette went inside.

“Is it expensive? I’ve noticed the runes carved into the top. I’d be willing to try to replicate them, but if you got an actual alchemist to write them, I can’t—”

“You’ve seen the runes?” Eponine knew her voice was too loud.

Cosette blinked. “Well, yes,” she said slowly. “I’ve been in this room, like, a hundred times. They’re kind of - large?”

“Did you read them?”

“I can’t read runes.” Cosette took a step forward, then stopped, still a foot away from Eponine. Her heart was beating erratically, her mind fuzzing like a TV station without a channel. “Were they supposed to be a secret?”

Eponine didn’t know how to respond.

“Eponine,” Cosette started. She paused before continuing. “Eponine. Is everything okay?”

“Let me close that door.” She sprinted to the other side of the room, while Cosette watched from the wall.

She had blown the deadbolt and handle clear off, as well as a good chunk of the the left side of the door frame. There was no way it will close on its own; it would have to be replaced.

Not really thinking, Eponine gathered some of her residual magic, planning on melding the top of the door to the frame, so it would create a seal shut. Her emotions were fraught and undisciplined, though, and she was far too eager; instead of melding it at a touch, she instead hit it with such a wild burst of magic that the door flew back and hit the wall, to which it melded.

“Oh fuck,” she cried.

“Eponine, it’s okay. It’s just a door.”

“No it’s fucking _not,_ ” she swore. She grasped at the wood of the door, but it came apart like sawdust in her hands; she was far too emotional to have any control over her powers, and, vaguely, she knew she’s just making things worse.

She continued to grasp, and it continued to fall apart; the middle section was completely decimated, while the top part of the door was still melded to the wall, like glue.

There was a hand at her wrist, pulling it away from where it was grasping at the door, and another at her shoulder, turning her.

Before she even knew what was happening, she was caught in an embrace.

“It’s okay, Eponine. Calm down.”

Cosette was facing the inside of the room; there was no way she wouldn’t see.

There was no point anymore.

Eponine shoved her face into Cosette’s shoulder, and let herself be hugged.

After several moments, she could hear Cosette’s sharp intake of breath, and Eponine knew she has seen.

The embrace ended, and Eponine stepped back.

Sure enough, Cosette was staring at the far right corner of the room, where there stood a small bed frame.

“Eponine,” Cosette said in a remarkably steady voice. “Why is there the body of a dead ten year old boy in the locked room of your house?”

“He’s not dead.” Cosette’s eyes snapped back to Eponine. “He’s not. He’s in a coma-like state.”

Cosette shook her head, eyes wide, clearly asking her to explain further.

Eponine swallowed around the rising bile in her throat, and continued.

“He’s my brother, Gavroche. It happened four or five years ago. I was young and stupid. Reckless. We were in a very rough situation. Parents were a witch and a warlock operating illegally, doing some real dark, shady magick. I started experimenting under their nose with some of their illegal ingredients. They didn’t think we were smart enough to know what do with any of them, so they were never locked up. Every night I went down, every night I tried to come up with something that would let us get out.”

Eponine’s mind immediately conjured up the bubbling, dark, purple potion, only turned clear in the wee hours of the morning.

“I got my hands on one of their dark magick books. Real old stuff, back to Merlin. Found a recipe for draught of living death.”

She heard Cosette inhale.

“I wasn’t sure I had it in me to _really_ kill them, but this would give us the time to pack up and make our leave. And hey, if someone cared enough about them to brew the cure - then maybe they deserved their lives after all.  Left it out to steep one night on the stove, when I knew my parents wouldn’t be back until dusk the next day. Woke up, and Gav’s on the ground, next to it, unresponsive as a doornail. I’m guessing he thought it was water. He hasn’t moved since, except his heart. That keeps beating.”

Cosette wasn’t saying anything, and Eponine couldn’t bear to look at her, so she continued.

“Kept my promise to myself and Gav, got us out of there. Left them nothing but their bones. And he’s there, I’m here.”

“I am so, so sorry,” Cosette said, and clearly she hadn’t put it together. The lark was singing, low and mournful. “I can’t imagine what that was like for you.”

“I was out of my mind with grief.”

“There’s no good way to handle that kind of pain.”

“No,” agreed Eponine. “But there are functioning ways to handle it, and that’s not what I did. I loved him too long and too hard. I let him be my everything, when he, you know, was gone - I just lost myself.”

“But you’re here now.” Eponine looked up, eyes glistening. So much optimism and faith it emanated out of her, and it honestly hurt to look at. “You moved on.”

“I didn’t.”

“You survived, and you will find a way, someday, to get over it.”

“I’m not trying to _get over it,_ ” Eponine said. “I’m just trying to get through it.”

“There has to be a cure.” Cosette’s eyes had taken on a determined glint. “Somebody out there knows how to fix this.”

“There’s a potion that will cure it.”

“Then we’ll find it,” she said, oh so determined. And maybe - just maybe, Eponine could actually pull this out without losing her best friend.

“I have all the ingredients except one.” Her heart was pounding. “Just one - the rarest of all.”

“What is it? I’ll help you find it, no matter what it is.”

Eponine swallowed, closes her eyes, and then answered. “The lifeblood of a lark.”

The lark stopped singing.

When Eponine opened her eyes, the lark had already hidden in Cosette’s dress pocket; she could see the lump where it was sitting completely still.

Cosette’s face was unreadable.

“Is that something you can buy online?”

“No.”

“Have you actually looked?” Cosette’s tone was as hard as Eponine’s ever heard it, and it set her on edge.

“Are you actually asking me that?” Eponine demanded. “I _scoured_ the Internet, asked everyone I could possibly think of. I’ve had eyes and ears on the black market for ages, had a toe in every secret and illegal magic ingredient trading organization. Larks are just too rare - how often do people really earn larks, anyway? Let me tell you - not often. And anyone with a lark doesn’t exactly want to give one up.”

“Does it have to be lifeblood? What about just blood?”

Eponine shook her head. “The spell is clear. Lifeblood of a lark.”

“There has to be something you haven’t tried.”

“Grow up, Cosette.” Cosette flinched. “Not everything can be solved by trying harder. I took every lead I could, I chased down every single rumor, I drove myself half mad with grief and stubborn conviction. I drove everyone away from me with my incessant demands. I did _everything,_ and he was _gone._ And then you _waltz in,_ and the answer to my five years of hysteria is just fluttering on your shoulder—”

“No one said a word.” Cosette’s voice was a whisper, and, suddenly, Eponine was aware that it had started to rain.

“What did you want people to say? It’s not their place. And it’s not like I could just ask.”

“And why is that _?_ ” Cosette looked like she was equally close to tears and punching Eponine in the face. Amazingly enough, Eponine sort of hoped it would be the latter.

“Are you actually asking me why I didn’t ask you to let me kill your lark when I first met you?”

Cosette is silent.

“Would you have listened to a word I said if I asked immediately, the moment we met in Chetta’s?”

Cosette’s eyes flickered away, and she sighed, long and hard. “No, probably not. I probably would have jumped town.”

“Yeah, exactly. I was just,” she sighed. “Biding my time until you knew me enough that I could at least sit you down and explain. Which I tried to, and evidently did so fucking poorly.”

“You should have done it earlier.”

“When? What day, what time would have been right for me to explain?”

Cosette’s jaw clenched. “I don’t know, but did you have to - you didn’t have to lead me on. Pretend you liked me, let me get close, let you be my best friend. It was just cruel.”

“I wasn’t pretending.” Cosette shook her head, looking away. Eponine leaned forward, and took her hand, trying to catch her gaze. “Cosette, I wasn’t pretending. The friendship, all of it - that was real. That was me.”

“You did it for my lark. You did it so you could get close enough to steal and kill my lark.” She says it like she’s can’t believe it, like it’s a lie that she has to repeat to truth. “Everything has just been a lie.”

“No,” Eponine disagreed, heart pounding. “Cosette, it really hasn’t—”

“It has.”

“Cosette—”

“Everything has just been—” Cosette stopped in the middle of her sentence. Without another word, she turned, and walked straight out Eponine’s door.

When Eponine was eight, she accidentally was caught in an undertow in Eastwick Lake. When under, the water compressed her chest so tight she thought she’d never feel air again. She couldn’t breathe.

Eponine couldn’t breathe.

She followed her out.

Cosette apparently broke into a run fairly fast, because she was already into the forest. Eponine followed, silently grateful that she had bare feet, letting her go faster.

Cosette was running, but not fast, probably still unused to the forest path.

“Cosette,” she bellowed, barely hearable over the wind. “Stop.”

Surprisingly, she did.

Eponine took a step back when she saw her face, forcibly reminded of the charred hole Cosette had made in her door with barely a second thought.

“Would you have been my friend if I didn’t own a lark?”

The truth, _yes and no,_ died on Eponine’s lips. She blinked several times, chest expanding and retracting too fast. The soil was quivering under her feet, and the breeze was starting to pick up. The rain, only drizzles before, was starting to come down in real droplets now, cold and wet. “Cosette,” she tried. But the words weren’t coming.

Cosette swallowed, eyes glistening. She turned, her skirts going up a foot with the force of it.

“Wait!” Eponine cried, and moved forward, grasping her wrist.

“Let go of me!” Cosette pulled her wrist, but Eponine held fast. “Eponine, let go!”

Cosette grabbed her wrist with her other arm, yanking, and both girls stumbled forward, still connected. Eponine was inches from Cosette’s face, and she could smell her slight perfume, and see the furious despair in her eyes, her hair coming from the careful plait, her skirts cushioning Eponine’s weight against her.

“Let go!” Cosette yelled, and a burst of white-hot magic flew from her fingertips. Eponine lurched back, clutching her hand, scalded.

They stared at each other a moment. Cosette’s eyes drifted to where Eponine was grasping her own hand to her chest. She took an aborted step forward, before visibly collecting herself, and turning away once more.

“Cosette, you can’t go before I explain.”

The steps didn’t stop.

“Cosette!” Eponine yelled, the wind drowning out Eponine’s voice. The soil was lurching now, covering her feet with tiny shakes. The leaves on the trees above were quivering, the rattling setting an unsettling ambiance. Eponine’s hair was flying around her face, obscuring her vision. Her emotions were so haphazard she had no idea anymore what was the storm, and what she was causing. “Please, I’m begging here.”

She stopped, and turned her head only, and caught Eponine’s eyes.

“Fuck you.” It was the first time Eponine’s ever heard something close to vulgar from her mouth, and it stung.

Cosette was moving to turn, and something in Eponine broke.

Gathering her powers, electrified by the storm, Eponine stomped her foot into the wet soil, quaking the Earth for several meters around, and Cosette fell to her knees. With her hands spread wide, she gathered the wind, bending the branches of the trees until they formed a blockade in front of Cosette. The rain was still pouring buckets, but with a turn of her head, she focused their spray on Cosette, making her scramble back to avoid their pelting.

Cosette, hands and knees on the ground, turned to Eponine, face livid.

She tried to stand, but Eponine grinded her foot in deeper, and the Earth trembled harder. Cosette stumbled, knees still on the ground.

“Just stop and listen to what I have to stay. It’s not all you think.”

Cosette’s entire body was vibrating with the force of the wind, rain, and earth around her, but she still managed to stand. She put her hand on the branch blockade, and Eponine could almost see the current of energy run through her fingertips.

The branches broke like toothpicks.

Cosette turned, arm outstretched towards Eponine, and the rain changed direction, blowing Eponine down to her knees.

With a turn of her hand, the massive oak to Eponine’s left cracked, the two-feet-across trunk severed; it fell not an inch from where Eponine’s hand was lying.

Eponine may be powered by the storm - but she was no match for someone so clearly above her magic level.

With a furious cry, Cosette reached her arm towards the sky, and a massive gust of air shot to the sky, the rush of wind rising at such a pace that it parted the clouds directly over where she was standing, so a ray of sunlight fell directly onto Cosette.

The clouds dispersed, and Eponine could feel her power start to drain.

“Enough,” Cosette said.

Eponine didn’t watch her leave.

* * *

She made it back to her cabin in a daze.

She sat by the fire, still lit from the preparation of Cosette’s visit.

The door to Gavroche’s room was almost completely gone, and from her seat on the ground, she could just see his still form.

The reflection of the raging fire lit her eyes.

She stood, jaw clenched, and stared at his prone frame, at the group of protective runes carved over his head, at the almost unnoticeable rise and fall of his chest.

Love had never done her any good, but maybe her love could still do someone else some good.

With a decisive turn, her heel ground into the wooden floorboards, her skirts flowed around her knees. With a flick of a wrist, the door swung open and hit the house, rattling the windows.

The storm had remerged since Cosette had flown it apart.

She walked outside.

* * *

In their haste to begin packing, they had forgotten to take Eponine out of the warding. Powers still crackling from the storm, and with the insider’s ability, Eponine quickly cast a spell to dismantle the warding, just in case it came into Cosette’s mind to do so in the next few minutes.

She creeped up to the cabin, kneeling in the mud outside of the living room window. Hands on the sill, she lifted her head just enough to look inside. She caught sight of her reflection - hair plastered to her head, face smeared with dirt, and something about her expression was just on the touch of wrong. Forcing herself to look past it, she looked inside.

It looked exactly the same, and, suddenly, Eponine realized there was no reason to believe Cosette would go immediately home.

The thought was interrupted by Cosette herself, storming into the living room from the hall, lark in a cage in her hands, and Eponine ducked her head, heart pounding.

“Are you sure?” Valjean wasn’t shouting, but his speaking voice was naturally loud enough to be heard over the pounding rain.

“Positive.” Something slammed on the floor. “We need to leave this town.”

“Cosette—”

“Now, Papa,” she said.

Eponine was still crouched under the window, not seeing, but she could hear Valjean’s steps, hear him murmuring, and she somehow just knew he was hugging Cosette.

There wouldn’t be a better moment.

She crouched back, ready to blow out the window and hopefully startle them enough to possibly cast a spell to kill the bird, when something in the woods caught her attention.

She turned, and her stomach dropped before the recognition even took place in her mind - Javert.

Their little power display must have gotten the whole town’s attention - they weren’t even thinking. He must know that Cosette has powers of the sun, and the clouds magically parting in a huge burst of light would attract anyone’s attention, let alone someone looking for it.

And goddamn it, she had taken down the warding.

Javert didn’t even hesitate when walking towards the door, confirming Cosette’s belief that he had little to no practical knowledge of magic. There was no way a student of magic would be able to miss all the protective runes or windchimes. He did stop and take a look at the locks, but, with a lurch, Eponine realized none of them were drawn. In her distress, Cosette must have forgotten.

At this point, Javert would have a warrant - he didn’t have to knock.

And he didn’t, quietly opening the door and stepping through, most likely completely unknown to Cosette or Valjean inside.

Her heart kicked up a notch. Eponine rose her head slowly to peer through the window. Cosette was on her knees, packing up some books that were on the ground near the fireplace. Valjean was facing the fireplace, collecting the viles that had been on the mantlepiece. Neither was facing the door, and with the heavy rain, neither heard Javert enter the room.

Unable to sit still any longer, and with no clear idea what she was going to do, Eponine stood and ran, bounding up the steps, and wrenching the door open.

She flew into the room, stopping in the doorway.

Javert was standing in front of the window Eponine had been at just a moment ago, gun drawn, pointed at Valjean, who was standing silently, body angled in front of Cosette, who was standing with one hand carrying the lark’s cage, and one on Valjean’s elbow.

All eyes snapped to Eponine.

The moment stood still.

Javert didn’t have powers.

But neither did Valjean.

If Eponine stood aside, Cosette would concentrate on taking Javert down so they could leave, no doubt. She’d need her hands for her magic, and would have to drop the cage holding the lark. In her distraction, there was no doubt Eponine could kill the lark.

If she and Javert concentrated on a taking Valjean down, it could be done in a moment. There was no way Cosette would leave without him, and, depending on how grievously they injured him, Cosette would no doubt be distracted enough for Eponine to kill the lark, alone in its cage.

Or, if she turned on Javert - she had powers, he did not. She could give Cosette the chance she needed for escape.

And, in the end, like always, it came down to choice.

The room let out a breath, and time restarted.

With a broken, bounding heart but a confident turn, Eponine faced Javert. Gathering up her powers, letting them course through her veins, pumping with her heartbeat, she ground her foot into the floorboards. Opening her hand, she gathered the wind through the window. The glass shattered, fragments flying into Javert. He crumbled to the ground, gun dropped, knees hitting the wood, hands flying up to cover his head. She twisted her wrist, cycloning the air, creating a mini-tornado inside the cabin. She moved it towards Javert, catching him in the gusts - he spun three times around, reaching to the ceiling. With a fist, she swept her arm down, and the air dispersed, throwing Javert to the ground in a heap. She could hear his head crack against the flooring.

It turned quiet, and suddenly, she knew, somehow just knew, that Valjean was standing on the deck, but Cosette was still in the doorway, watching her back.

Eponine unclenched her fist.

A beat.

The door creaked, and then slammed shut. Two pairs of footsteps clattered down the wooden steps, and the squelch of feet against sopping grass was discernable for a moment.

And then nothing.

Eponine let herself fall to her knees.

  

She was soaking wet.

The storm outside was still raging, but it was silent inside the cabin.

Eponine was kneeling in a pool of water that had come in through the shattered window, hands braced against the cold, hickory floor, knuckles bloody from the glass.

She was exhausted - mentally, physically, magically - everything. But there’s only so long you can ache, so, after several minutes, she pushed herself to a sitting position, clutching her legs to her chest.

The cabin was a disaster; pictures flung everywhere, the fireplace in ruins, the couch in five pieces, water in puddles all around. Javert was lying unconscious three feet away.

She could sense he wasn’t dead, which was a relief; he was only doing his job.

A hollowness prevailed within her, unknown to anything she had ever experienced before. Somehow, she knew.

It was time to let go.

Emptily, she gazed around the room. When she reached a foot from where she was seated, she paused. Her gaze settled on a single, lone gold feather lay on the hardwood floor, fallen from the bird in the scuffle.

She scooched forward, not rising, and grasped it. She stroked it lightly with her thumb; it was soft, just like its owner.

Her eyes were beginning to sting, so she hid her eyes in her knees, arms crossed in front, hand grasping the feather tight enough to crumple it.

A moment later, a scorch of electricity coursed through her hand, making her jump back several feet in surprise.

Uncomprehending, she looked around, trying to find the source.

And there, at her feet, was a lark: golden and plump and hers.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel possible based on reaction! I think it works as a standalone but I'm more of a "and give it a happy ending" type gal. 
> 
> Kudo/comment if you'd like, it's always great encouragement. 
> 
> Say hi on [tumblr](http://raeldaza.tumblr.com) if you so want.


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